


Maybe We're Just Sleepwalking

by WickedInk



Series: Argue, Fight, and Kiss a Little [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, these two are such dorks why do they ruin my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:05:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1535234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedInk/pseuds/WickedInk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their first kiss spawns from an argument about a cliché Facebook status from 2010.</p><p>“The only person here guilty of hypocrisy is you, Jean,” Eren says, “a walking cliché who won't admit that half his material comes from poetry about cigarettes and rainfall.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe We're Just Sleepwalking

**Author's Note:**

> title is taken from The Chain Gang of 1974's song, 'Sleepwalking'

They're draped across Eren’s bed, legs tangled together, covered in rays of the springtime sun. It’s mostly sunny, the sun burning through the lingering clouds from the early morning fog. Eren rolls onto his back and pulls his legs higher on Jean`s person, “Let’s go outside.”

Jean has held his phone hostage majority of the morning, claiming to be scrolling through one of Eren’s social media accounts; most likely his twitter. He hasn't updated that thing in three months. “Let’s not.”

“Why not? It’s nice outside.” He nudges the side of Jean’s right knee with his own, “You're not doing anything important.” He stresses the ‘any’.

Jean doesn't move, doesn't twitch, his thumb just keeps scrolling down whatever it is he’s looking for and he makes a face at the screen. “Lying here in this bed,” he nudges Eren back, “with you,” another nudge, “is very important.” Eren can’t find it in him to fight the heat that rises to his face. It’s still hard for him to get used to this, used to Jean and all his ways of flattery.

Eren believed himself to be out of the first love haze, the overindulgence in sentimentality that plagues rookie couples. He believes _them_ to be past that phase, until Jean opens his mouth and makes Eren fall for him all over again. The crowning moment of their four month liaison was when Eren found out that Jean is a closet romantic. He shines when they're alone, accenting Eren’s sentences with soft touches and warm smiles, all with a rosy tint to his cheeks because even though they've lost themselves in each other, he’s just as new to this as Eren is.

Most of Jean is a front he puts on, but so is Eren, and that is tie that binds them.

“Where’s _your_ phone?”

Eren’s calm expression falters at his boyfriend’s guttural grunt. “I don’t speak monkey.”

“It’s in here,” there’s a vague wave of a pale arm, “I just don't know where.” 

“You're an idiot.” Eren says. He’s back to lying on his side, tucked into Jean’s side as close as he can be. Daily morning argument is crossed off the list. Jean is warm and his natural musk mingles with the spring mountain water soap his mother bought him. Eren feels himself calming down. “What are you even looking at?”

Jean’s reply isn't immediate, which alerts Eren to the idea that Jean could be looking at something either offensive or blackmail worthy, both equally dangerous situations. The small quakes that rumble through Jean’s chest don't make the situation any better on Eren’s part.

“’ _Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars? I could really use a wish right now’_. June 2010, oh my god Eren, you did not.”

Embarrassment flares up quickly in Eren and he’s grabbing for his phone before he realizes it, “I liked that song, you dick. 2010 was rough for me.”

Jean is laughing now, and through his embarrassment Eren can still appreciate the sound. It’s not cackling or grating, nor does it sound like tinkling bells or china clinking against glass. It’s from deep in the diaphragm, deep from his soul and it shakes Jean’s shoulders, rocking Eren to his core. Jean’s got the phone over his head, hand bent against the wall behind the bed, and he’s laughing. Eren couldn't picture being anywhere else.

He _could_ picture his beautiful douchebag boyfriend posting the status on other social media sites, so the phone became top priority once again.

“Jean stop being an _asshole_ ,” Eren’s rolled on top of Jean and he’s straining himself trying to reach the offending device, “and just give me my phone back.”

Jean’s laughter has died down but his smile has morphed into a smug grin and Eren is not here for that, “And what? Miss this opportunity to play ‘How Cliché is My Boyfriend?’”

Eren lets out a frustrated noise, which does nothing but spur Jean on. Eren fucking adores Jean but when he’s in annoying eight-year old mode, he can do without him. Jean’s not making the situation any better, for every inch that Eren moves up Jean matches and the phone never stays in their overlapping orbits. He’s going to run out of room soon, and then Eren will be able to make his move.

“You’ve got some nerve calling me cliché.” Eren mutters into Jean’s shoulder. The cotton fabric sticks to his lips, “When you spew shit like ‘Lying here with you is very important.’”

Jean’s expression shifts from playful to insulted; the bastard’s got his nerve. “What the—? That’s not cliché, that’s romantic as _fuck_ and you like it.”

That line _was_ smooth as fuck. “Still doesn't make it not cliché.” Eren pulls himself higher on Jean.

Jean groans, “Your grammar is atrocious.”

“You’re so fucking pretentious.”

“And you're too vulgar.”

“Like your face.” Almost there…

Eren can see the retort die on Jean’s lips when the blond realizes that he’s run out of room. The phone’s still out of his reach, thanks to their natural height difference and Jean’s longer limbs, but the wall’s the end of the line and Eren takes this small victory in stride. That cocky Kirschtein smirk is back, the asshole doesn't know when to quit.

Eren likes that in a man.

Jean’s arm has switched from bending awkwardly against the wall to hanging halfway off the bed. “Face jokes? What are you, twelve?”

“With you, sometimes I’m not sure.” Eren shrugs. Jean brings out the best and worst of him.

“You're not sure that you're twelve?”

“No, you jackass. I’m not sure about _you_ sometimes.” It’s a half-truth hidden behind the dual insinuation of his words. Eren’s pretty sure that they'll make it for a few years (if he wants to be real with himself, he wants them to last for their lifetimes but that could be the effects of new love), but he’s not sure if Jean’s on the same page. Not when Jean’s the one who’s too shy to hold his hand in public, or when he introduces Eren as his ‘friend’. Hell, they haven't even kissed yet.

“Are you calling me immature?” 

“I’m not calling you an adult.” Eren huffs into his boyfriend’s shirt.

“The hypocrisy happening in this bed today is amazing.” Jean takes in a slow breath, exhales it through his nose; Eren rises with his chest. “Wow, it’s blowing my mind. Astounding.”

“Be quiet.” Eren says, and he attempts a half-hearted reach towards the phone. Jean ducks his hand under the frame of the mattress, and Eren’s starting to mull over the idea of just suffocating the idiot and taking the damn phone.

“No, we're going to address this issue,” he flicks Eren in the shoulder closest to his free hand, “then go back to reading your teenage wank.”

“The only person here guilty of hypocrisy is you, Jean,” Eren says, “a walking cliché who won't admit that half his material comes from poetry about cigarettes and rainfall.”

“I can't help what I like!” Jean’s voice has taken on a higher pitch that Eren recognizes as the embarrassed tone. He’s never understood why Jean always gets so defensive when he talks about his reading interests; it’s not like Eren genuinely hates the genres Jean likes. (Some of it seems a little contrived, grasping at metaphors that would only make sense to the most abstract of thinkers. Eren can connect the dots between A and B, when there’s A and B but B doesn’t exist and E is taking B’s place, that’s where his focus fades). They make fun of each other’s hobbies, it’s what they do, and it’s their _thing_. 

Eren’s focus returns in the midst of Jean’s impromptu rant. “Nothing’s wrong with me liking romantic shit, even if some of it is crappy hipster hallmark cards.” He shifts his shoulder, Eren watches the muscle, “Shit, I mean-I'm just so into us that when I'm reading, my mind’s filing away the good one-liners because I don’t know if you've noticed but I like you a _lot_ —”

He stops to take a breath, shallow and hurried, which almost knocks Eren off his chest.

“—And you just bring out this side of me where I just want to write you stupid fucking poems and cook you breakfast in bed because I am a damn good cook, my mom taught me well. Maybe even buy a fish or a plant with you.”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Jean’s body tenses under Eren’s more lax form, “You deliberately read poetry just to find lines to flirt with me with?” He sits up on his boyfriend, resting on his forearms draped over Jean’s chest, and makes eye contact with him. 

“You are the sappiest fucking idiot I've ever met.”

Jean’s bashfulness has forced his line of vision to an adjacent corner of the room, and he’s flushing the warmest color of red. Eren can’t pull his eyes away. They’d confessed feelings months ago when they were still young and dumb and now Jean’s little poetry rant is taking him back to when they first found out that they didn’t hate each other.

That confirms it.

Eren’s not really sure when it happened, one second he’s seeing heaven splayed beneath him and the next he’s leaning down to meet Jean’s lips with his own. Jean is stiff when they part and Eren’s not sure how to take that reaction. 

“…No.” Jean mutters after a few moments of silence.

“What?”

“That can't be our first kiss.”

He’s been keeping track of their non-existent kisses too. “It was.”

“Re-do.”

“What?”

“Re-do.” Jean adjusts himself on the bed, pushing up on his own forearms, “I don't want that to be our legacy. We're better than that."

Eren kisses him again, only if to shut him up about the absurdity of their first kiss not being in the middle of an airport or the result of them running into each other’s arms. He doesn't get his phone back, all thanks to Jean dropping it under the bed in favor of running both of his hands over Eren's hair and shoulders.

The absurdity of it all.


End file.
